Part 14 (1/2)

The sale of her parents' house provided for the down payment on her own. It didn't, however, provide for the subsequent monthly payments. What remained of the proceeds from their house was eaten up by unexpected outstanding debts that came to light, as well as by a letter demanding payment for back taxes that had been overlooked. Claire settled everything and was left with nothing.

Nothing but Libby, her house and her determination. It was enough.

But being sick had temporarily depleted her supply of hope and with it, her optimism. Claire could feel the Aesthetics account slipping through her fingers. There was no way she could land it now. The company wasn't going to smile upon a neighbor coming by with two children in tow to drop off her presentation on the receptionist's desk.

If Evan even made it.

Which led her to her more major concern. Where was he? Where were the children? She knew if Libby was back, she'd hear the sound of running feet echoing somewhere in the house. Libby could never be accused of being a quiet child, even when she slept.

Where was she?

Claire slid down farther in the bed, pulling the covers over herself, wis.h.i.+ng she could at least fall into the mind- numbing abyss of unconsciousness.

She must have fallen asleep eventually, because the very next thing she knew, Libby was in the room, bouncing on the bed. Even in her present state, Claire welcomed the jarring motion. It took all the restraint she had not to hug her daughter.

”You did it, Mama, you did it.” Libby leaned forward, peering into Claire's face. ”Do you feel better now?”

”Did what, honey?” It disturbed her greatly that she could barely pick up her head. Instead of better, she was feeling worse.

And then Evan was in the room, taking Libby's hand. Taking Libby. ”C'mon, Libby, you know you're not supposed to be in here.”

His voice was gentle, kind. Or maybe that was just her delirium growing.

Libby was on the verge of tears. She didn't want to be separated from her mother again. ”But she's my mama.”

Evan sighed. The last thing he wanted was a scene, or to have Libby crying. But she couldn't stay here, either. Claire was still ill and besides needing her rest, she could still infect Libby.

He picked Libby up, holding her against him. She squirmed, then gave up.

”And she's going to continue to be your mama, but right now, she needs her rest, okay?” He could feel the indecision warring within the young body. Evan threw in what he hoped was his ace. It had worked before. ”And I need your help with Rachel.”

In the dim light, Claire could just about see Libby pouting over his shoulder as Evan carried her daughter out.

”Okay, I guess. But you tell me as soon as Mama's rested and better. Deal?”

”Deal,” he promised.

”What did she mean?” Claire asked suddenly, hoa.r.s.ely calling after Evan as Libby's words registered. ”That I did it?”

Evan stopped in the doorway. Nothing pleased him more than telling her this. ”You got the account. Congratulations.”

”That's nice,” Claire murmured, and then slipped away again.

She thought she heard someone laugh, but couldn't be sure.

She dreamed it, knew she dreamed it. After all, it was a dream for her, to get the Aesthetic Athletics account. That had been lost to her because she had gotten sick tending to Evan.

Everything happened for a reason. She just didn't understand this one yet.

Didn't understand, either, why she and Evan were celebrating. Dancing somewhere high above, surrounded by clouds, with suns.h.i.+ne streaming through, bathing them both.

Suns.h.i.+ne had to be the reason she felt so warm in his arms. So aglow.

And then they weren't dancing anymore. They were kissing, holding each other tightly as if that were all that counted in the world. His kisses grew more ardent, more pa.s.sionate.

She could feel the floodgates quaking, threatening to break within her. Threatening to flood her, not with water, but with emotions. Emotions she had struggled so hard to lock away after Jack had deserted her.

Emotions only hurt you.

But they didn't hurt now. They felt good. Wonderful.

Evan felt wonderful.

And her body felt like a rare violin, being played after having been kept in a dark case for so many years. It hummed.

There were angels watching them. No, not angels, Rachel and Libby, standing beside a mirror image of the two of them. Except that the mirror image was different somehow. It was her, but it wasn't her; him, but not him.

And they were smiling. Smiling at the pair kissing in the center of a dance floor made up of clouds. Smiling at her and Evan.

Suddenly, the girls vanished. Heat crept up her neck as she felt and watched the kiss blossom into something so powerfully potent, it made her head spin and her desire soar. He was undressing her, loving her with his hands, with his eyes, with his lips.

Loving her...

Claire woke up with a start, then dragged air into lungs that felt as if they had been completely depleted of oxygen.

Her pulse was beating wildly.

Momentarily disoriented, Claire looked around, expecting to see clouds. Expecting to see Evan. There were no clouds, no mirror images, no angels. No Evan. She wasn't even in her own bed. This wasn't her bedroom; it was Evan's.

Evan's.

Completely conscious now, Claire looked down at herself, fervently hoping that what she'd dreamed hadn't been reality. That they hadn't danced, hadn't kissed.

Hadn't...made love, she realized.

But she wasn't nude; she was wearing pajamas.

She didn't own pajamas....

It took her another moment to remember that they were his and that she had put them on just before she'd collapsed in his bed.

Claire sank back against her pillow. The red-hot, tingling sensation that had danced through her body was only now beginning to settle down. She could feel herself blus.h.i.+ng.

They'd made love in her dream, she and Evan. That was why she felt as if her entire body was on fire. It wasn't the fever that was to blame; it was the dream. Claire touched her forehead. It was damp and warm, but not hot.

She wasn't delirious, just sick.

And turned on.

Claire drew in a few more breaths, forcing herself to calm down. She'd almost succeeded, and then negated it all by remembering the children.